


I Need You

by pinstripedJackalope



Series: WINGO [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fights, Gen, Grooming, Hurt Alec Lightwood, Hurt/Comfort, Malec Discord Server WINGO, Poison, Pre-Relationship, Shadowhunter Magnus Bane, Sick Alec Lightwood, Vomiting, Warlock Alec Lightwood, Wingfic, Wings, reverse au, they're friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24750046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripedJackalope/pseuds/pinstripedJackalope
Summary: Let it never be said that Magnus can never be serious.  Magnus isseriouslynever speaking to Alec Lightwood ever again.Aka: Magnus makes a mistake in ignoring Alec's texts and Alec gets hurt as a result.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood
Series: WINGO [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789747
Comments: 14
Kudos: 157
Collections: Wingo Summer





	I Need You

**Author's Note:**

> I finally started on my WINGO card!! This one is the grooming/preening, wing cuddles, molting, and touching wings squares!
> 
> In this universe Magnus is 18 and a little emotionally stunted. Please forgive him.

“Get your disgusting boots off the bed, Magnus.”

Magnus grunted, nose to his phone. As if he’d wear disgusting boots—these babies were brand new, spotless, the brightest glitter and most sparkles that money could buy.

“I’m serious, Magnus. This is the infirmary, you can’t just go putting your feet up wherever you—”

“Ugh,” Magnus groaned, rolling his eyes. “It’s not a big deal, just change the sheets once I’m gone.” He sniffed, ignoring Catarina’s glare in order to swipe away a text notification from Alec without reading it.

Catarina was quiet for a long moment. Then, in a flash of motion so fast that Magnus hardly even saw it coming, her foot swung out and knocked his feet off the bed he was lounging against. 

It was so vicious a kick that he nearly fell out of his chair. “Hey!” he said, after righting himself. 

“Serves you right,” she muttered. “Now tell me what’s wrong so you can get out and I can go back to studying.”

Magnus lifted a hand, brushing a loose hair back from his face. Damn mundane hair spray—he was out of his usual Seelie potion and mundie stuff just didn’t do the trick. “What’s _wrong_ ,” he said, dragging out the syllable of ‘wrong’, “is that Ragnor still won’t go with me to Brooklyn and I’m out of all my hair products.”

“Yeah, why don’t I believe that?”

“It’s true!” Magnus huffed. Another text—he swiped this one away as well, his lip curling before he could stop it. He considered a moment before marking it as read, just to piss Alec off more. When he glanced up, folding himself more comfortably in the infirmary chair, he found Catarina staring at him.

“…You’re fighting with your boyfriend,” she said, sounding her way around the words with something just removed from glee.

Magnus spluttered. “Not! My boyfriend!”

“Oh, but you didn’t deny the ‘fighting’ part,” she said, with a slight laugh. 

God, having friends was the worst. And the worst friend of all was _Alexander Lightwood_ , warlock extraordinaire and also the person whose words were ringing in Magnus’s head. _You_ _’re not taking this seriously_ , he’d said. _You never take anything seriously_.

Well, jokes on him, because Magnus was taking his threat of never speaking to him again _very_ seriously.

“What has he been texting you?” Catarina asked, leaning over the back of Magnus’s chair. Magnus grunted. “Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t read them.”

“I haven’t,” Magnus said, a note of pride in his voice. It was mostly because he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist a witty reply if he did look at the texts. Can’t keep a vow of silence with wit like his. It was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Not that Alec was making that easy for him. He’d sent at least fifteen texts in the last half an hour, a veritable record for the grumpy warlock. Magnus sniffed, flicking the screen of his phone off so he could spin it between his fingers just as the summoning bell went off in the distance.

Catarina, when he looked up, was glaring at him. “What?” he asked.

“Seeing as you’re sitting around doing nothing, maybe you should, I don’t know, answer the summons.”

“Someone else will get it,” Magnus said, waving a hand. “There’s plenty of shadowhunters in this place.”

Catarina was not having it. “ _Go answer the door, Magnus_ ,” she said, brooking no argument.

“Fine,” Magnus muttered, and swept out of his chair and off toward the front entrance. He marched right up to it and, without pause to check through the peephole, threw the door wide open.

The last thing he expected to see on the other side was Alec. And yet, there he was. Magnus’s heart soared, a smile fighting to curl across his lips before he could beat it back down. Alec had come to make things right between them. Alec was going to apologize, and though Magnus would try to hold the high ground eventually he would break down and apologize, too, and then they would make up and—

—but something was off. Alec’s black wings were unglamoured and hanging, dragging on the ground. His face was pale and sweaty, and he was swaying where he stood, one hand braced against the door frame and the other curled around his stomach. His eyes were frighteningly distant.

Magnus paused in the doorway, staring at Alec as the smile dropped from his face like a stone. He looked… drunk. Except _not_ drunk, not quite. More than drunk he looked like he was this close to passing the hell out on the Institute’s front lawn.

“Alec?” Magnus said, uncertainly. Alec’s head nodded, and he made as if to step forward, only when he did his knees gave out all at once.

Magnus was reaching out before the thought had even crossed his mind, sliding his hand under Alec’s arm to brace him. Without a word, Alec’s weight sagged against him. 

Not good. Not fucking good. Alec never accepted help—he was self-sufficient to a fault. This, right here? This was the other side of the fault line, territory that Magnus had never had the misfortune of seeing.

He swallowed hard, stumbling as he backed into the front hall, trying to keep Alec on his feet. It was not going well. While Alec was still conscious, his fingers clutching loosely at Magnus’s shirt, he seemed unable to willfully control his feet. They were scraping against the stone floor, his boots leaving long muddy streaks. His wings, hanging limp at his back, dragged across them without a care as Magnus brought him further inside.

“What happened?” Magnus asked, when they were finally far enough inside for the door to slip shut behind them. He was already feeling Alec’s stomach for a wound, pushing Alec’s hand away with a curt “Let me see.”

Alec did, but just for long enough for Magnus to realize that there _wasn_ _’t_ a wound—the skin under his t-shirt was unmarred, unmarked, no sign of blood or bruising anywhere. Still, as soon as Magnus removed his hand Alec’s was back, clutching tight as if in pain.

“Mags,” he slurred, and then, unceremoniously, he dropped to his knees, nearly taking Magnus down with him. He was panting, his breath short and shallow as he leaned over his knees, still clutching his stomach.

“No, no—come on, we need to get to the infirmary,” Magnus said, making an attempt to haul him back to his feet. Alec didn’t deign to respond, just knelt on the stone floor with his arm around his stomach and his wings lying like dead animals behind him. The arm Magnus had in his grip was limp, fingers loosely twisted in Magnus’s shirt still as Magnus tried in vain to lift Alec’s not-insignificant weight.

It didn’t work. Thankfully, because a moment later Alec started to retch, and if Magnus had gotten him to his feet the bile he was heaving up would have gone all over Magnus. 

“Fuck!” Magnus swore. Then, raising his voice, he screamed, “CATARINA!”

Alec moaned at the sound, curling up tighter. Magnus reached for him, placing his hand on Alec’s sweaty forehead to brace him when it seemed like he’d collapse flat on his face into the contents of his own stomach.

Not that there were a lot. He was heaving an awful lot for the measly amount he was getting up. “Have you been throwing up?” Magnus asked urgently.

A nod, Alec’s coarse, damp hair dragging against Magnus’s palm before he lurched forward again with another unproductive heave. He was shaking, trembling, his entire body vibrating like a plucked cello string, and by the look of his eyes he was _this close_ to losing the fight with unconsciousness.

He lost it a moment later.

“Come on, come on,” Magnus muttered. Then, louder again: “CATARINA! CAT, PLEASE!”

“I’m coming!” Catarina’s voice came, echoing down the hall. When Magnus focused he could hear footsteps, many of them, coming down the hallway toward them. He breathed out when Catarina skid around the corner, the rest of the infirmary staff hot on her heels.

From there it was a flurry of motion, Catarina ducking down to put her head under Alec’s other arm so that she and Magnus could lift him onto his feet. He went without a struggle, so limp that Magnus feared for the state of his neck. They half-carried, half-dragged him to the infirmary, where the staff were already preparing a bed.

“We’ve got him,” one of the staff said, taking Alec’s arm from Magnus.

Magnus nodded, letting her. “Careful with his wings,” he found himself saying a moment later, hands reaching forward, as Catarina and the medic deposited his friend into an infirmary bed. He winced as Alec’s wings dragged on the ground, hanging over the edge of the bed, but thankfully Catarina was there a moment later, holding the limp wings up so that the team could push another bed up against the first. She set them down gently.

“What happened?” she asked, coming around to Magnus’s side as the medics swarmed the bed.

“I don’t—I don’t know?” Magnus said. “There’s no wound, there’s no—I couldn’t see anything wrong?”

“Did he say anything?”

Magnus frowned. “No, he—he didn’t say anything. I asked if he’s been throwing up and he nodded, though—that’s all I could get out of him—”

“Okay,” Catarina said. Her lips were pressed together, her eyes sharp as she glared at him. “Well, how about the texts you’ve been ignoring? Is there anything there?”

Oh. Oh, god. Magnus’s eyes went wide, and he scrambled for his phone. If Alec had asked for help, if Alec had been out there, helpless and sick, as Magnus _ignored_ him—

He almost couldn’t put his password in, his hands were shaking so hard.

The texts were rote, the kind of texts that Alec sent when he needed to update someone on a mission. In short, concise words he said that he had been invited to a Circle event with a bunch of other downworlders and he was pretty sure they were going to try and convince him to work on their side.

_It sounded diplomatic. Not sure how dangerous it'll get. I might be able to get in and snoop around a bit before I tell them no. I need you on the outside in case things go bad._

_God, okay, just ignore me, I guess. See, this is exactly what I mean._

_I can see you reading these. Would you at least tell me you_ _’re not coming so I know not to expect backup if I need it?_

_Fine. You haven'_ _t said you’re not coming, so I’ll assume you’re on your way. Coordinates in next message._

_I'_ _m in. This place is warded to hell and back._

_Sitting down for dinner. Will try to do some reconnaissance after._

_Okay. Dinner is over and I'_ _m in the back. I’m sensing a lot more warding back here, I think there’s something or someone hidden behind one of these doors._

_Magnus_ _… get your team. There are prisoners back here._

_Magnus._

_Magnus?_

_Not feeling well. I think there was something in the food._

_Magnus, I need you._

_I can'_ _t_

_Sorry, had to throw up. Hit send too soon. I can'_ _t use my magic, something is wrong._

_Magnus._

_Magnus, please._

…And that was it, the last text some five minutes ago. He’d needed Magnus, and Magnus wasn’t there. 

Magnus’s mouth was dry as he looked over at Catarina. “He was in a Circle hideout. Said that he thought there was something in his food, and that his magic wasn’t working. There were prisoners. I have—I have no idea how he got out of there alive, oh god, I don’t—”

Catarina’s face was hard, as if carved from stone. “Go bring the information to Ops. We’ll take care of Alec.”

“But—”

“ _Go_ ,” Catarina said, and for the second time in barely five minutes her voice brooked no argument.

***

It was a long night after that. Magnus helped organize the team that went out to the coordinates that Alec sent, watching them from the Ops center when he managed to prove that he would not leave the Institute until he knew that Alec was okay. 

Because Alec would be okay. He’d be okay, he’d be okay, he’d be—

“Hey,” said a voice at Magnus’s elbow. He looked up from the last stage of the mission to find Catarina standing beside him, her face drawn with exhaustion but graced with a small smile. 

Magnus sat up ramrod straight, grabbing her hand. “Is he awake, is he—?”

She shook her head. “No, but he’s stable. It was a fast-acting poison, and we managed to get an antidote into him just in time.” She breathed out, patting Magnus’s knuckles. “He’s been moved to one of the marriage suites on the north side of the building to accommodate his wings.” 

“Oh, thank god,” Magnus said, wilting a little. Then he stood, pulling Catarina into a hug. “Thank you. By the angel, _thank you_.”

“You know that this could have been avoided,” Catarina’s voice said, pinched, from where her face was pressed against Magnus’s shoulder. “If you hadn’t been ghosting him, if you had just—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Magnus said. He then pulled back, taking her by the shoulders and pushing her down into his vacated chair. “Watch the team,” he barked, and then he was gone, running out the Ops room door before Catarina could even let out an indignant yell.

He got to the room—the _marriage_ suite, ugh—in record-breaking time, coming to a halt huffing and puffing just in front of the door. He listened as the medics gave him a run-down of appropriate visitation behaviors, resisting the urge to tell them that he wasn’t _that_ bad, and then, hand trembling on the knob, he was _in_.

No one in their right mind would ever think to call Alexander Lightwood small. At six foot two, he beat most of the shadowhunters _and_ the downworlders that Magnus knew, including Magnus himself. All the same, there was really no other word to use when he was lying curled up on his side, dwarfed by his bare wings, which were spread out on the bed behind him. He looked small, and pale, and sick—like he was recovering from something terrible, which, of course, he was.

Magnus swallowed, pulling the door closed behind him so he could edge around the room to the chair at Alec’s front. He sat in it, tentative. Then, because it was impossible to be in the same room as Alec and not say a word, he leaned forward to take his friend’s hand with a small, “Hey.”

Alec didn’t so much as twitch.

Which was fine. Magnus didn’t expect a response. He’d kind of hoped that his mere presence would urge Alec back into the waking world, but he was willing to wait him out. Especially after what had happened, what… what he’d _done_. 

_I need you_ , Alec had said. And what had Magnus done? Swiped the notification away. God, he was so _stupid_.

He couldn’t focus on that. He couldn’t, or he’d cry, and ruin his eyeliner, and then Alec wouldn’t wake to the prettiest face in the world he’d wake to a black-streaked monstrosity, and Magnus wouldn’t be able to deal with that. So he blinked hard, taking steadying breaths as he looked around the room at anything that wasn’t Alec’s pale, exhausted face, until, as if by chance, his eyes landed on a loose feather on the bedspread.

It was a mid-sized one—not one of the nearly-four-foot-long flight feathers, but not a small one, either. Magnus reached his free hand over Alec’s still form to pluck it up, turning it over in his fingers. He glanced over at Alec’s wings, noticing for the first time how disorganized they looked—like they had been ruffled by a harsh wind, all the feathers out of place.

“That can’t be comfortable,” Magnus said aloud. He’d only ever been allowed to touch Alec’s feathers when Alec was molting, which he did twice a year, spring and fall. Still, it wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was doing—he was a very fast learner, and fixing feathers was a nice, repetitive activity somewhat similar to petting a cat if, you know, a cat were a seven-foot-long feathered limb.

With this in mind, Magnus slowly set Alec’s hand back down on the bedspread and, with shadowhunter agility, nimbly climbed over Alec to reach his wings. He settled down cross-legged on the bed, beginning to run his fingers through the feathers. He didn’t have any grooming oil with him, but he could at least straighten them out a bit.

Or… he could, if the first stroke of his fingers hadn’t caused a handful to come out in his grasp.

He gasped, watching the dusty black feathers flutter to the bed. It wasn’t molting time. Feathers came out sometimes, sure, but not like this. Not unless Alec was molting early or he was very, very stressed.

“Okay, okay, just—lets get all the loose ones out, yeah?” Magnus said under his breath, running his fingers through the feathers once more. Another handful came out in his grip. Something was starting to squeeze his chest, something just shy of panic, as he watched more and more feathers flutter into a pile on the blanket. 

Thankfully, after a few more strokes the loose feathers were more or less out in that little area. Magnus examined it, petting at the rest of the feathers—it wasn’t bad enough that he could see bald spots, so that was something. He bit his lip, continuing down the wing and fixing feathers as he went, all the way up until a rough voice behind him said, “What’re you doing?”

Magnus whipped around, caught red-handed with his hands in the cookie jar. It was Alec, his head turned back to peer over his shoulder, eyes slow-blinking. Magnus didn’t know if it was better that it was the owner of the wings he currently had his hands in up to the wrist, or if it was worse because this was the owner of the wings he currently had his hands in up to the wrist.

Well. When in Rome, as they say. He couldn’t exactly back out now.

“I’m fixing your wings,” he said, voice chipper. “You’re welcome, by the way. Now turn over so I can get the other sides.”

He waited a moment, leaning back on the palms of his hands, but Alec made no attempts to move except to turn his head back to face the wall, shifting his arms so they were pressed to his stomach.

Magnus frowned. “Do you—do you need help?” he asked. Then he nearly hit himself in the face. “Right, sorry. You’re probably not feeling that great, still. You were poisoned, by the way. I can, um, get the other sides tomorrow if you—?”

“I thought you were coming,” Alec said, and his voice was small. 

“I’m right here,” Magnus said, a pit of dread growing in his stomach.

Alec shook his head, curling up a little tighter. “Before, I mean. At the—at the Circle hideout.”

“Oh,” Magnus said, and then, for lack of anything better to do, he stroked a hand down Alec’s feathers once more. He didn’t know what to say.

Alec, it appeared, had some kind of idea. His words came out in a whisper as he shuddered where he was lying. “You never—you never ignore me. I thought you—I thought you’d come—”

Guilt had never seized Magnus quite as strongly as it did right then. “Alec—” he said, strangled, but Alec was shifting, pulling his wing out of Magnus’s grasp.

“I’m tired,” he said, and suddenly his voice was cold, disinterested, like he’d flipped a switch and turned himself off. Magnus, who had always prided himself on getting Alec to laugh, to blush, to _feel_ , felt his own heart squeeze to hear the blankness in Alec’s voice. It was worse than the hurt, it was worse than the fear—it was worse than _anything_.

It was like they’d never been friends at all.

Magnus found himself lost for words, his mouth opening and closing in a silent search. He’d fucked this up, he’d fucked this all up and now he was going to lose Alec same as he’d lost his mother—

Except he couldn’t. He wouldn’t survive that. Alec was his _best friend_. They could fight, they could yell, they could give each other the silent treatment but if he and Alec weren’t still there for each other at the end of the day, Magnus wasn’t sure how he’d be able to look himself in the face every morning.

So, swallowing his pride, and his anger, and his _absolute conviction that he was never wrong_ , he hunched down where he was sitting and, his mouth turned down in a frown, whispered, “You were right.”

Alec said nothing, but Magnus could tell he was listening because he hadn’t told Magnus to just get the hell out. Magnus seized the moment, clutching it tight in his hands.

“You were right. I don’t take things seriously enough. I… I just… there’s this, this anger inside of me? It flares up every time the Clave tells me to do something or gives me a mission. Because I think, like… if the Clave actually cared, maybe my mother would still be alive. But they don’t care. And if they don’t care, why should I?”

He was shaking by the end of the admission, swallowing heavily against the tears that were threatening his makeup once more. His mother… wow. It had been nearly thirteen years since he talked about his mother with anyone. But if anyone should know, if anyone deserved this truth, it was Alec. Alec, who he cared for just as deeply as he cared for his mother, or Ragnor, or Catarina, if not more. Alec, who he’d shared every mission with for the last three months. Alec, the only person he let himself unwind around. 

Alec, who got hurt tonight because of him.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus said, and with a blink the tears finally fell. “I’m sorry, Alexander. I didn’t read your messages and I didn’t take you seriously and I’m so, so _sorry_ —”

He was cut off by a yelp as one of Alec’s black wings swung up off the bed, ramming into him and knocking him clear over Alec’s body. He was just about to say hello to the floor on the other side of the bed when he realized that the wing was curled up around him, folding him into the embrace of Alec’s arms. 

Alec was holding him. Alec was _hugging_ him. Alec—still far too pale, and smelling of stale sweat, ew—had taken him in his arms, holding Magnus to his chest as his wing folded like a tent overhead.

“Why,” Alec said, squeezing his arms tighter around Magnus’s chest, “couldn’t you have just _said_ that?”

“I have a chronic need to be witty instead of sincere,” Magnus wheezed. He wriggled his arms free, winding them around Alec’s waist in turn. He swallowed, sniffling. “You can’t tell anyone I said any of that, okay? I have a reputation.”

“Sure you do,” Alec said.

“I do! Ask anyone! Except maybe Catarina, I think she’s still mad about the fact that I put my feet up on the infirmary beds—”

Alec laughed. It was short, just an exhalation of air, but Magnus had never heard anything so sweet. He sighed, burying his face in Alec’s shirt, sweat smell and all.

They stayed like that for a long moment, Magnus relishing in Alec’s steady heartbeat, his even breaths. Then, with a small sigh, Alec whispered, “I understand why you did it. But please… please don’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” Magnus said. Then he huffed, prodding his nose into Alec’s chest. “You need sleep.”

“I need you,” Alec said, so quiet that Magnus nearly didn’t hear him. But he did, and instead of mustering up a witty reply he decided that now was a pretty good time to just shut his mouth and enjoy a hug from his best friend.

The two of them fell asleep like that soon after. Alec dropped off first, his breathing evening out in sleep and his arms going slack around Magnus’s chest, wing pressing down on them both. It was nothing like the unconsciousness that had taken him before—just smooth, even breathing as his exhausted body healed. 

A good thing, Magnus figured. Though he should probably stick around just in case. He nodded to himself, snuggling closer to his friend. This was fine. It was good. For now, anyway.

Maybe tomorrow he could finish grooming Alec’s wings.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a standalone fic, as in I don't have any other ideas for this universe. That said... if you'd like to see more just let me know! I'm always open to prompts!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Let It Be Known](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097302) by [pinstripedJackalope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripedJackalope/pseuds/pinstripedJackalope)




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